From this watery gaze above the metro
I recall moments from minutes ago.
How in an instant I lost you
in an exchange usually ending with you
clutching my arm, I accommodating
the bag you carry, the heaving of your chest.
Today, we abandoned the city’s way of uniting us:
every afternoon meeting at the station
where people hustle on their way home heedless
they might trip on their steps or lose
something valuable in the process.
Like us engaged in argument.
And we were home every time we touched,
palm on palm, while waiting for lights
to whiten our faces in the dim stretch of the tunnel.
Now you are straight-sure as this locomotive:
The only destinations we reach
are ends and back again.
The rolling of metal wheels is in haste
yet the world outside seems taunting still.
You are in the next train yet I seek you
in every scene seen through blurred glass.
This journey may not see
an arrival anytime soon,
the whirring of this train becoming
a hundred small wheels spinning on my spine.
(Published, Paper Monster Press)
